Page 9 of Fake Wife
I wiggle the card again.
His gaze roams my face, my hair, and drops down the length of my body. It’s slow and not altogether unpleasant. I fight the urge to tremble under his inspection, his blue eyes so light they’re almost clear, until his eyes snap to mine.
Directing his hand in a waving motion behind me, he says, “We should get off the road. Let these people stop gawking and get back to their day. Follow me to that parking lot over there and we’ll deal with everything.”
He finally takes the card from my hand and glances at it.
“Teagan?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.”
He steps around me and hurries to his car. When his engine finally starts, he peers back at me through his rear window. Technically, I could take off. But he has my name and at least my last address. Not like I’m difficult for someone like him to track down.
With a trembling sigh, I climb into my car, thankful at least the accident didn’t destroy my car’s engine, and I pull into traffic, following him to the lot. He gets out of his Mercedes and meets me at my car door, holding out a hand to help me exit. I stare at it before taking it, letting him pull me to my feet and then closing the door behind me.
“So? Insurance?” I ask, but he shakes his head.
“Actually,” he says in that deep voice I haven’t heard much of but that does wicked things to my stomach in a way I very much like. “I have a proposition of sorts for you. Care to join me for something to eat?”
Did I hear what I just think I did? I couldn’t have. “Like what, a way to pay off the damage to your car?”
“No.” He grins down at me, tugging me toward an elegant French restaurant called Le Chat Noir. I’ve always wanted to go there but could never afford to. “I’ll take care of the car. I have something else for you in mind. But first, tell me this.”
“What?”
“How do you feel about cats?”
My eyes open wide and I glance from him to the restaurant. I have very little knowledge of French, but even I know the name is The Black Cat.
“You mean to eat?”
He throws his head back and laughs. And holy crap, it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful, so much more than that, but the wordhandsomedoesn’t come nearly close enough. With his laughter rumbling through me, I’m barely able to stand straight.
“No,” he says, wiping his smile off and shoving his hand into his pocket. “I mean for a pet.”
“Oh.” I scrunch my nose.
My nonanswer makes him grin again. Why this makes a man like him happy puzzles me. Plus, we should get back on topic.
I stop walking and he’s forced to do the same. “Are you okay? I mean, I didn’t hit you that hard, but you have a bruise already, and well, this is weird. You should be yelling at me or something. Right?”
“Do you want me to yell at you?”
“Well, I could live without it.”
“Perfect.” He’s still holding my hand and he tugs me forward. “Then join me inside. I’m not much of a yeller, and like I said, I have a better idea.”
Chapter 4
Corbin
What in the hell am I thinking?
Nothing clearly, that’s for certain. Perhaps I enjoyed too much whiskey with Trey earlier. Perhaps I slammed my head into the steering wheel harder than I thought. Perhaps the woman now holding my hand is so damn freaking beautiful I thought I’d seen an angel when I first stepped out of my car.
Her caramel-colored hair fell almost to her waist, blowing gently in the breeze, but it wasn’t just the curves or her hair, or her wide and terrified brown eyes that immediately piqued my interest.
